


Brain Fog

by YellowMustard



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, But also not, College AU, College Roommates, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Gay Connor Murphy, Homophobia but not really, Humor, Internalized Homophobia, Jealousy, Lesbian Activist Alana Beck, M/M, Multi Chapter, OC but he's a cat, Rating likely to change as we go, Slow Burn, a second OC but he won't be in it all that much, because i have no patience, straight but not very good at it evan hansen, we're back babeyyyy, wink wonk, yes this may eventually involve smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-22
Updated: 2020-08-21
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:27:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25445380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YellowMustard/pseuds/YellowMustard
Summary: It’s only as Evan stands stock-still in the tiny dorm room that they've shared for six whole moths, shuffling through memories at top speed, looking for evidence, supporting documentation, something, anything, that he realizes Connor’s never said a word about girls. Or sex. Or sex with girls.Nothing. At all.(OR: Evan finds out his roommate and best friend is gay. He's feeling ways about it.)
Relationships: Evan Hansen/Connor Murphy
Comments: 97
Kudos: 118





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello I am not dead!!!
> 
> Turns out I just REALLY needed a brain break to get my writing mojo back. But I'm here! With a new chapter story! I have no idea! How long it's going to be yet!
> 
> This is actually based on a reddit post i saw in r/relationships (i think?) and I immediately went THATS MY BOYS AND I MUST WRITE. I don't really want to link the reddit post here yet because I'm afraid it will give too much away, but I'll add it when the story is complete so you can all have a read of the situation this is loosely based on. Trust me, you want to - it's seriously cute.
> 
> Hope you like it! <3
> 
> TW: uhhh i don't think anything? Talk of anxiety, anger, depression. Some mildly nsfw boy-banter but it's not too bad. Please let me know if you notice anything else I should add to the warnings!
> 
> Tumblr: @theyellowestmustard

* * *

Evan has never seen Larry so upset.

He’s been pacing the room in agitation for a little over a half hour, grumbling loudly the entire time. Every now and again he’ll sit down for a while, sighing haggardly and rubbing at his face in this irritated sort of way. But then just as he seems to be calming down he'll launch to his feet and start pacing all over again, seeming almost in more distress than before. Like the whole sitting-down process has just pushed more frustration up into his brain.

Evan just...he wishes he knew what to do here. What to say. Just. _Anything_ that might calm Larry down.

“It’s...it’s gonna be okay,” he says, rather uselessly. 

Larry says nothing. Barely even turns to look at him; just keeps on pacing.

Evan feels like an idiot. He’s way out of his depth here, and he and Larry both know it. 

“Sorry,” he mumbles, though he’s 100% sure that Larry cares very little about an apology from Evan.

But apologizing is just. What Evan _does._ And it seems like the right thing to say. Because Larry is clearly _very_ worked up; he seems so _angry_ but also like he might very well just start crying at any given moment, and Evan doesn’t know _what_ he would do if that happened; he is absolutely _not_ equipped to deal with that because it’s hard enough to console him as it is and he’s already kind of freaking out and...

“Hey,” Evan says, the word peeping out of him so timidly that it almost vanishes before it takes shape in the room. “Hey, just...c’mere?”

He offers an uncertain hand, reaching out in Larry’s direction.

And to Evan’s honest-to-god surprise, Larry goes to him.

Turns and walks right up to him.

And pushes his entire fat face right into Evan’s palm.

This is new.

A _very_ new development. Larry’s _never_ let Evan do this before.

“Hi,” Evan breathes, a little in awe as he scratches Larry’s head. “Hello.”

Larry lets out another heart-wrenching sigh.

“I know,” says Evan. “You’re worried about Connor. I...kinda am too. I have no idea where he is. But I’ve texted him, okay? So hopefully he’ll reply soon. It’s gonna be fine.”

Larry tilts his head in Evan’s direction, staring at him plaintively with those big, moony eyes that always look like they’re going in different directions. 

Then opens his toothless mouth and begins to yowl.

_Loudly._

“No, _don’t,_ ” Evan whispers desperately. “Don’t, _please_ don’t--”

Larry, heedlessly, proceeds to cry his dumb little heart out. 

For fuck’s _sake_.

With clumsy fingers, Evan yanks his phone out of his pocket, frantically shushing Larry the entire time, who continues to give an Oscar-worthy performance of abject misery, howling like Evan’s just slaughtered his entire family right in front of him. 

“Shut up shut up shut _up,_ ” hisses Evan, stroking Larry’s back briskly in an attempt to calm him that does absolutely fuck all. “Someone’s gonna _hear_.”

Connor. Evan needs to text Connor. 

This is an emergency.

**Evan:** hey sory i texted u earlier but u didn;t rely?

**Evan:** *reply

**Evan:** where r u?? larys freaking out that ur not here and idk what to do????

**Evan:** pls respond he;s like,,screaming n im scared someone will hear him

Evan double-checks that his notifications are on so that he’ll hear his phone when Connor eventually responds, and redirects his attention to trying to distract the brainless shouty mountain of grey fur in front of him so both he _and_ his idiot roommate don’t get thrown out of their goddamn dorm.

Evan did _not_ sign up for this.

Well. He signed up for _college,_ obviously. He signed up for the whole campus-living-with-a-roommate-you’ve-never-met thing, even though the mere concept of it had sent a heaving sense of dread right through him. 

But like. He’d signed up for _one_ roommate. Not _two._

In all fairness, Evan supposes Larry's normally not so bad. For an illegal interloper, anyway. He sleeps a lot, and he's usually pretty quiet. So much so that Evan often forgets he's even there. Connor keeps like a hundred pillows on his bed, and when Larry is all curled up asleep he blends right in; just a fat gray cushion, hiding in plain sight. 

And admittedly, Connor _did_ check to see if Evan was okay with him keeping a fucking cat in their dorm room before he just...brought Larry into the place. 

Evan's more of a dog person, to be honest. But he just couldn't say no; not when Connor wheedled and whined and pleaded with him, pulling every dirty trick in the book; _'I'll take all the blame if anyone finds out'_ and _'nobody wanted him, if I'd left him at the shelter they were gonna put him down'_ and _'_ _look_ _at him he's so_ _ugly_ _ , please Evan _ _please_ _?' _

In retrospect, Evan wonders what the hell Connor was doing at an animal shelter in the first place. 

He hadn’t thought to ask at the time. 

He’d simply given a stupefied little nod, staring through the bars of the carry crate in bewilderment. 

Wonky amber eyes had stared right back, deep-set in an enormous, lopsided face.

"I think I'm gonna name him after my dad," Connor had said, grinning as he opened up the door, clicking his tongue gently to try and coax the animal out. 

"Oh," Evan had said weakly, trying to think of anything other than the fact that this was the fucking stupidest looking cat Evan had ever seen in his life. "Does your dad...like cats?" 

"Nope," Connor had replied cheerily. "He's gonna fucking _hate_ it."

Evan's never met Larry The Human. From what Connor's told him, he doesn't think he particularly wants to. He doesn't seem to be a thing like Larry The Cat, who is affectionate and sweet and fixes those devoid-of-all-thought eyes on Connor like he's the whole entire world. 

Human-Larry, the _real_ Larry, Connor rarely talks about. 

Evan's asked once or twice. About Connor's family. Icebreaker type stuff. But Connor just clams up every time; turns to ice himself, cold and silent. 

So Evan's learnt not to ask.

He doesn't mind, not really. Everyone has their triggers, and Evan's more than happy to avoid the topic altogether if it means Connor feels comfortable in their shared space.

Connor's comfort is important to him.

He likes Connor. 

He's just...a really good guy.

He's different to how Evan remembers him in high school. Not that Evan really ever knew him at all. There were stories, things whispered in bathrooms and behind locker room doors. Things about drugs and fights and a suicide attempt in senior year. Evan remembers a vague shadow of a tall figure, angry but almost faceless; lacking any real depth or substance. He remembers the time Connor had called him a freak and barrelled him to the ground and then not shown up for school for two weeks. He remembers sitting in the empty computer lab afterwards, half-paralyzed from the aftershock, trying to bring himself to write a therapy letter and ultimately thinking fuck it and leaving before he'd even opened his laptop.

He remembers a fleeting crush on Connor's little sister, embarrassingly enough.

But his recollection of Connor Murphy, the old Connor Murphy, is barely-there; obscured under a layer of memory-dust. Lost in brain fog. And almost dreamlike, the way he loses more detail with each passing day. The way it becomes harder to tell which memories are real ones and which his subconscious has made up.

He wonders if Connor's memories of Evan from high school work in the same way.

He hopes so.

Or like. He hopes that if Connor _does_ happen to remember the absolute disaster that Evan was in high school, that he'd want to be friends with him anyway.

That certainly _seems_ to be the case, from what Evan can tell. At least, from what he can tell when he’s feeling grounded and safe and, like... _logical_ , anyway. Sometimes he’ll lapse into stiff trepidation, usually in the middle of the night. A thought will pass over him like a swish of cold air, prickling his skin and hunching his shoulders in: _Connor doesn’t actually like you at all._

_The one and only friend you’ve managed to make in college only hangs out with you because he got stuck with you. You’re roommates, and he’s only friends with you by default._

_Probably he’s pissed that he managed to get roped into living with someone so fucking pathetic._

_Probably he fucking hates you._

He believes it, every now and then. At night, when the room is still and black and it’s easy to believe thoughts like that. 

But when he and Connor are both awake...not so much.

Because it really, genuinely seems like Connor considers Evan to be his friend, too.

Seems like Connor had liked Evan from the very first moment; when he’d shuffled through the doorway with an overstuffed backpack over one shoulder, taken one look at Evan and said “Wait...I know you? Evan, right?”

Evan sees himself as altogether forgettable, is the thing. He’s got a bland, round face and a bland white-boy haircut and a bland, barely-there personality.

Bland. Like steamed cauliflower. Like an unseasoned kale chip. Like a movie extra, or that underwear that comes in packs, with one pair for each day of the week.

And Connor had remembered him. 

He’d remembered his name.

And then, like. Kept _using_ his name. Which was somehow both grounding and startling all at once; a recurring reminder that Evan was, _is_ , A Corporeal Human Person, and not like... a brain in a jar, or something. Strangely intimate, too; like Connor was trying to say Evan’s name enough times to leave it branded inside his own ears. 

_“I had no idea anyone else from school would be coming here. Hey Evan, which side of the room d’you want?”_

_“So Evan, what are you majoring in? Reckon we’ll have any classes together?”_

_“Evan, no_ _way_ _are you going to eat...whatever the fuck the cafeteria’s got going on. It’s fucking Friday night, let’s drive into town and get a burger.”_

Evan’s not used to hearing his name said with anything behind it other than pity or disappointment.

To hear it said with a warm scoff or a flutter of laughter or a big, eye-creasing grin is just…

It’s awesome. The best.

Also, he and Connor _had_ gone to get burgers that night. It was the second week of Being Roommates, and Evan had never gotten into Connor’s car before. Turns out Connor drives the same way a three year old runs - With Zero Fear Of Injury Or Death. And he’d dipped his fries in his shake before he'd eaten them, which Evan supposes isn’t _too_ strange, but what _was_ strange is that instead of just dipping them like most people would, he’d poked a whole bunch of them right into the top of the shake, held up by ice cream and standing on end like spikes on a hedgehog. Then he’d grabbed the whole lot in one giant fist and eaten them all in one go. 

He’d called it a _porcupine cumshot_ , which had made Evan laugh so hard he’d shot cola out his nose.

And somewhere in the back of Evan’s mind, on a Friday night at some crappy little diner in the middle of nowhere, with sinuses burning from carbonation, the term _Best Friend_ had taken shape.

Evan’s probably not Connor’s.

But Connor Murphy is, without a doubt, Evan’s Best Friend.

And like. Not just on the fun days either.

Connor is Evan’s best friend when he’s anxious. When the panic builds up; layer upon layer like pages in a thick book that Evan doesn’t know how to read. Connor’s talked him through more anxiety attacks than Evan can count. He’d even called Evan’s _mom_ , once, when it was really bad and Connor was afraid Evan was going to pass out from lack of oxygen. He’s never said a single judgemental word to Evan about it, either; about _any_ of it, the attacks and the too-loud swallowing and the occasional stammer.

Not once.

Which. Evan’s never had _that_ before either. Someone who knows him; who sees him and doesn’t look away.

He likes it. 

A lot more than he thought he would.

And it goes both ways, too.

Evan is Connor’s best friend on the days when he’s...not good. Or at least, Evan does his best to be. He’s sure he fucks it up sometimes; he never knows the right thing to say. And it doesn’t help that he doesn’t actually know what Connor’s mental health situation even _is._ Connor’s never volunteered the information, and Evan’s not about to pry. 

It’s one of the handful of things they just don’t talk about.

But it’s obvious that _something_ is going on with Connor’s brain; something that _shouldn’t_ be going on. And Evan tries. He tries his absolute hardest. He listens when Connor wants to talk, and sits quietly with him when he doesn’t. He offers distractions; stupid little things to disrupt the hot flow of liquid anger in Connor’s head. 

He does what he can, and he hopes it’s enough.

It's usually very much appreciated. Evan thinks Connor would say it's enough. More than enough, probably.

Larry The Cat, on the other hand, seems less than satisfied with Evan's calm-down techniques.

He's still giving Evan this forlorn stare, pupils big and sad, like it's _Evan's_ fault that Connor isn't back yet.

Where the hell _is_ he?

It's Friday night. Connor comes back straight after class. Always. And then sometimes he'll ask Evan if he wants to go get food or something. That's their routine.

What the fuck is going on?

Larry gives another giant wail, and Evan tells him _I know,_ senselessly.

And then finally, _finally thank fuck,_ Evan's phone dings brightly. It's a little muffled, because Larry has decided to sit on it, and when Evan nudges him aside he wails again.

"Yeah, yeah," Evan mutters. "Tell it to the judge."

**Connor:** fuck omg sorry I just saw this 

**Connor:** nooo larryyyyy :(((

**Connor:** he'll probably calm down if u feed him? i was gonna message u n ask if u wouldn't mind feeding him tonight anyway, idk when I'll be back

Evan frowns.

Like. It’s fine, obviously. Evan doesn’t mind feeding Larry; in fact he’s already rummaging around in the cupboard for the food, while Larry sits at his heels, suddenly vibrating with excitement.

But.

Connor doesn’t know when he’ll be back?

**Evan:** yeah sure :)

Evan bites down on the inside of his lip, considering his options.

It’s not rude to ask, right? They’re _friends._

**Evan:** where are u?

**Evan:** if u don’t mind me asking?

**Evan:** u can tell me to fuck off if its none of my business

It’s probably none of his business. 

He’s being nosey.

But it’s just.

So out of the blue?

Connor doesn’t go out. Not without Evan. Unless he’s going home to see his family, or he’s working on a group project or something.

This is _weird._

**Connor:** meeting up with someone ;)

Evan stares at that little semicolon-parenthesis for a very long time.

What does _that_ mean?

Winking is like. A flirty thing? A cheeky thing, the kind of thing you’d send if you’ve made some sort of sly innuendo.

Evan gets the distinct impression that Connor is... _insinuating_ something?

Something that’s dripped right over the top of his head.

He knows he’s risking looking like a complete fucking idiot, but…

**Evan:** ??

Evan waits with bated breath, hoping Connor’s not laughing his ass off at Evan’s stupidity right now. He tips a tin of cat food into a dish and sets it down for Larry, who gives a squeak of delight before diving in.

**Connor:** look, don’t judge me. i met this guy on grindr ok

**Connor:** we’re going on like. a date i guess? he wants to take me out for coffee or whatever

**Connor:** idk emphasis on the “whatever” ig lmao ;p

Evan’s barely made it past “grindr”.

Because.

Wait.

What.

_What?_

Grindr is...it’s like Tinder for gay guys, right? That’s...that’s totally what it is, right?

It’s a hookup app for guys who like...for guys who are…

Evan stares at his phone screen, as wide-eyed and empty-headed as...as Larry The Cat, honestly.

Connor’s…

Connor likes _guys?_

It’s only as Evan stands stock-still in their tiny, makeshift kitchenette, shuffling through memories at top speed, looking for evidence, supporting documentation, something, _anything_ , that he realizes Connor’s never said a word about girls.

Or sex.

Or sex with girls.

Nothing. At all. 

In fairness, Evan hasn’t either. But in his case it’s because he’s got nothing to tell; little to no actual experiences with anything beyond a very awkward pre-teen first kiss with some girl who’s name he can’t even remember. He’s embarrassed about it; the fact that at eighteen he’s still so woefully inexperienced. He’s been actively avoiding the subject, for six whole months.

He’d kind of assumed that it was maybe the same for Connor.

Apparently, he was wrong.

He’d had no idea. Absolutely no _idea_ that Connor’s gay. 

Or if not gay, somewhere in the LGBT+ area.

And not only that, but like.

_Experienced._

Because Evan knows very well what the casual “whatever” implies; knows what Connor’s probably planning on doing if he’s not sure what time he’ll be home. 

And he’d sounded so blasé about it, so relaxed and at ease that he _had_ to have...done _things_ before. 

Things with _guys._

Evan feels his entire face heat up at the thought.

His mind is reeling. He’s completely lost; lost in not-knowing, in his own cluelessness - in brain fog, the same kind of brain fog that clouds his memories of Connor, memories that now seem based on a whole lot of nothing. 

He’s got no idea what to say.

But he knows he’s got to say _something._ Connor’s message has been sitting on _Seen_ for almost five entire minutes.

Eventually, Evan’s concern wins out over his shock.

Connor’s about to go out with some random guy, and potentially sleep with him. Someone Connor doesn’t even _know._ And that’s fine, totally, it’s his choice who he wants to sleep with, but…

**Evan:** be safe pls

There’s nothing in response for a while. 

Larry snorts into his dish as he reaches the bottom.

Then:

**Connor:** ok mom :P

Evan sighs.

Larry sighs too. In solidarity, Evan thinks.

**Evan:** im serious. make sure he looks like his profile picture. and if he’s driving u anywhere send me a pic of his license plate. just in case.

**Connor:** in case what, he’s a serial killer who wants to turn my skin into a nice lampshade

**Evan:** no

**Evan:** not a lampshade. I was thinking more some lovely curtains. floor length ones. you’re tall enough

**Connor:** >:O

Evan’s still numb with surprise, but he can’t help but laugh.

Because Connor Murphy is his Best Friend.

**Evan:** seriously. Not trying to be weird or anything but you’re going out with a total stranger. take care of yourself please. And if you don’t feel safe, leave. 

**Evan:** pls

Evan doesn’t really expect a reply. He goes to pet Larry, only to find he’s already run off.

So much for solidarity.

Evan chews absently on the inside of his cheek. Heads in the direction of his bed and flops down on top of the covers.

**Connor:** thanks dude 

**Connor:** means a lot that you care honestly

Evan’s heart warms in that way that only Connor can cause. Connor-specific warmth. 

**Evan:** :))

Evan glances over at Connor’s bed on the other side of the room. It’s unmade and messy, covered in his trademark mountain of pillows with extra blankets all bunched up.

And, as has happened many a time before, one particularly fluffy grey cushion suddenly lifts its head to look at Evan and blink at him, slowly.

Then tucks his chin in, curls back into a ball, and falls asleep.

Hiding in plain sight. 

Like so many other things about Connor Murphy, apparently.

Evan casts his eyes over the wall behind Connor’s bed, littered with dog-eared sketches and band posters. Over Connor’s nightstand; the empty mug painted with coffee stains and the stack of half-read novels and the rolling papers. The threadbare hoodie half-kicked under his bed and the fraying rug and the cat toys.

He wonders what else about Connor Murphy is hidden right under his nose.

  
  
  
  
  
  


  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evan doesn’t cope well with change. It’s been, like. A whole thing; an inadequacy that’s been present ever since he was little, something he really ought to have grown out of by now.
> 
> But he hasn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whattup i'm BACK!
> 
> We got some introspective Evan this chapter bc ya girl Mustard has ~anxiety~ and i'm way too familiar with overanalyzing every thought i've ever had! I hope this chapter is ok, it's one of those "no actual plot just character development" kinda chapters, so....hope its not super boring! 😅
> 
> TW: I don't think any? Homophobia (or is itttt??? ;))), language, angst, mentions of sex (very brief). As always, lemme know if I've missed something please!
> 
> Tumblr: @theyellowestmustard

* * *

It never used to be like this.

Evan doesn’t cope well with change. It’s been, like. A whole thing; an inadequacy that’s been present ever since he was little, something he really ought to have grown out of by now.

But he hasn’t.

When Evan was six years old, his teacher changed his day for Show and Tell. Evan was on the blue table, which meant his Show and Tell day was Wednesday. Evan was never very good at Show and Tell, but this one week he was really excited about it because he'd brought in this remote control truck from his dad; one that lit up and made beeping noises when you put it into reverse. But then his teacher had moved him to the yellow table; he’d had to swap with Jayden because Jayden and Lizzie “didn’t work well together”, which is just teacher code for the fact that they never shut up. Which meant that Evan’s Show and Tell day would now be Thursday. And Evan had _cried_ , actually teared up as Miss Nguyen had gently explained that he’d only have to wait one more day to show off his truck, and that he was such a big boy that she was _sure_ he could handle waiting one more day.

It wasn’t the waiting that was the problem; just the _change_. The change, and all the uncertainty that came along with it; a full 180 of Evan’s routines, a total about-face on what was safe and familiar and good.

Because if Evan’s Show and Tell day could change just like that, and his dad could leave just like that, then what else? What else could happen _just like that?_ Maybe tomorrow Evan could wake up in a different house, with a different mom, and the sky could be orange and his goldfish could be dead and he might not recognize his reflection in the mirror, a bomb could fall in the night _just like that_ and explode the whole universe and Evan might die before he got to show anyone his truck, or maybe, maybe in the morning Evan might just not exist at _all_.

Evan likes to think he’s progressed at least a little since first grade.

The evidence seems to suggest otherwise.

It’s quiet on the third floor of the library. It’s late, and there’s only a handful of people around studying, bleary-eyed and drooping in their seats. Finals are coming up. The entire building seems exhausted; the walls and the floor and the popcorn ceiling, all drab-white and sinking into the ground from stress. There’s a guy a few tables over who keeps sniffling into a textbook. Evan’s pretty sure he’s crying. Near the elevators there’s a trio of girls who seem to be in a zombie-like state of sleep deprivation, all three sipping delicately from Starbucks cups, even though food and drinks aren't technically allowed.

Evan’s not judging.

It’s not a big deal. 

It’s just coffee. They’re just…

Jesus Christ, Evan is an _asshole._

He’s not judging the girls in the library, but he _is_ judging his best fucking friend?

What the fuck is _wrong_ with him?

Evan drinks in a shallow little breath. 

Pulls out his phone again.

Why the fuck is he torturing himself like this? 

The photo won’t have changed. Like. Connor’s not gone and pulled a Dorian Gray. It’s gonna be the same picture, with the same innocent caption.

And Evan’s gonna have the same _fucking awful_ reaction.

Evan taps into his messages, and opens the photo.

For whatever the fucking reason.

**Connor:** Him™

It's a photo of Larry. A good one. Connor's caught him mid-blep and flat on his back with all four of his fat little feet sticking right up in the air. Like he was trying to roll over and got stuck.

It's cute. 

Larry is a great cat.

Evan barely looks at him. 

For what feels like the hundredth time, his eyes are drawn instead to the bottom half of the photo. 

Larry's lying at the foot of Connor's bed, is the thing. So Evan can see Connor’s outstretched legs on top of the covers from where he’s taken the picture; just from the knee down. Bare white skin stretched tight over his bones.

And a third leg.

Thrown casually over Connor’s.

Which is in an equal state of undress. 

Evan’s stomach churns uncomfortably.

It never used to be like this, and Evan doesn’t like it.

The "This" is named Lucas. He’s got an undercut with these shiny corkscrew curls on the top of his head, and a constant five-o-clock shadow. There’s a bar through the top of his left ear that Connor says is called an industrial piercing, and a tattoo of a jellyfish on the inside of his forearm, its inky tendrils twirling all the way down to his wrist.

He's attractive. Like even Evan, a straight guy, can see he's obviously attractive. He's got these dark, intense eyes and mellow-looking skin and this overall grunge-hippy aesthetic that Evan could totally get behind. He looks like he spends a lot of time lying on the beach with a cigarette between his fingers. He looks like he'd go to bars on Saturday nights just to complain about bars. He looks older than Evan, like an Actual Adult Man, rather than a teenager that's gotten all stretched out in the wash. 

Lucas looks cool and clever and handsome. Lucas is like...a whole-ass vibe.

Evan fucking _hates_ him.

He's not sure exactly _why_ he hates Lucas so much. Evan's hate is sharp and visceral, and it comes from a part of him not governed by logic. Evan hates Lucas because he does, because it's his right to hate him, because that is the way it is.

Evan kind of hates that he hates Lucas, honestly.

_Sometimes_ it's fun to hate him. It’s satisfying, in a way, for Evan to clench his jaw and sigh too loud and let his internal monologue bitch and gripe and moan about the fact that he’s stuck sitting in the library because his roommate is fucking his douchebag kind-of-boyfriend in _Evan’s_ space. It feels like a release; like spitting out something too hot, something that’s burning scars into the roof of his mouth the longer he holds it in there.

Fuck Lucas. 

And fuck Connor, too.

Fuck both of them, honestly, because this isn’t fair it’s bullshit it doesn’t even make any sense and…

And things need to make sense.

Sense, logic, is all Evan’s got.

Which is why it’s usually not fun to hate Lucas. And it’s _never_ fun to hate Connor.

Mostly Evan’s anger is just...confusing?

Because he _can’t_ justify it, not properly. He can’t figure it out.

He _wants_ to figure it out, he thinks. Figure out why he’s so pissed. He can’t stay in this state of grouchy resentment forever. Sooner or later Connor’s going to notice, and then they’d have to have A Confrontation, and those aren’t exactly Evan’s forté. 

Honestly, it’s surprising Connor hasn’t caught on to Evan’s irritation already. Evan thinks he must be doing a good job at hiding it; he waits until he’s in the library, or Connor’s gone to spend the night with Lucas, before he throws his little mental tantrums. When Connor slides Lucas’s name into conversation all easy and smooth ( _I’m going to a movie with Lucas, Lucas has asked me to stay over, Lucas Lucas fucking_ _Lucas_ _)_ Evan doesn’t even flinch. Barely even bats an eye. He gives as natural a smile as will fit on his face and goes _“Cool, tell him I say hi.”_

Evan spent most of high school in a state of Active Invisibility. 

Of smiling and nodding and then vanishing into the background.

He’s gotten good at it.

But Connor is _perceptive_ , is the problem. Connor observes and notices, even the tiniest details that most people would turn a blind eye to.

Evan needs to figure this out before Connor does.

He needs to sort this aggression out, and he needs to get rid of it.

And like.

He’s in a library.

If Evan’s in the mood to study, he’s pretty much in the perfect place for it.

And Lucas is probably still sprawled out in Connor’s bed right now. So Evan’s got time.

Evan opens up the notes app on his phone, creates a new note, and titles it _Why Am I Being A Dick? (An Analysis)_

Then tugs his bottom lip between his teeth thoughtfully as he ponders where to start.

_1\. Feeling displaced?_

It feels right to type. Feels good to see the words take shape on the screen, feels good to roll them around his mouth at a whisper. _Displaced_. 

And because it sounds and looks and feels just right, Evan pushes himself to keep going. 

And to take away the question mark.

Make himself own it. Own what he’s feeling.

_1\. Feeling displaced. Homeless. Feeling uncomfortable in my own space because Lucas is always there. Can’t relax and get comfy or study or call mom or do much of anything  if C & L are always there doing stuff. Each other. _

Evan looks over the paragraph.

Then immediately deletes the whole thing.

Because it’s just...it’s completely unfair, he realizes. He’s being _totally_ unreasonable, because Connor and Lucas have never _ever_ had sex when Evan’s been around. Connor has been _extremely_ respectful of Evan’s space, and has never done _anything_ at the expense of Evan’s comfort. 

And as for Lucas _always_ being there...when Evan thinks about it, _really_ thinks about it, he realizes Lucas has only been to his and Connor’s dorm room five times.

Five.

Which is practically _nothing._

Lucas is _not_ always there. It just _feels_ like he is. 

And if Evan is going to get to the bottom of this, he needs to base his information on facts, not feelings.

So that’s out.

_1\. Feeling REplaced. Scared i’m losing my best friend??_

That’s...closer. Kind of.

Evan _is_ afraid of losing Connor; has been for a long time.

Evan’s never had anything like this before, and it feels... disconcertingly temporary. He's waiting. To mess it up, for Connor to realize what a disappointment Evan is, what a disaster, what a waste of space.

But that's...that definitely started _before_ Lucas made an appearance.

And also Evan's pretty sure that's just a glitch in his own head and nothing to do with Connor at all. _Definitely_ sure, actually, because Connor goes out of his way to stress how important Evan is to him. Like. All the time. 

Evan’s reminded of that text from only a month ago. _Means a lot that you care honestly._

And a whole lot of other texts. 

_im bringing back pizza. Betting you havent eaten all day_

_hey weird question but did u take ur pills this morning? just checking_

_oh my god did u ever see the last unicorn as a kid? its an animation and it used to TERRIFY me. zoe thought it was cute. it was NOT it was the most unsettling kids movie ever made istg. having like war flashbacks rn tbh. we should watch it together its fucked up you’ll like it_

_but if u dont wanna thats cool, we should hang out tonight regardless_

If Evan feels like Connor is slipping away, that’s on Evan. Not Connor.

Back to the drawing board, then.

Evan thinks hard. He feels like he’s clouding up, like steam on a mirror, his stupid goddamn brain fog masking some truth that's lingering right below the surface.

_1\. Never been good with change? Things are changing and it freaks me out and that’s presenting itself as anger/disgust/resentment?_

Could that be it?

It’s not a lie, at least. College-freshman Evan is really not all that different to first grade Evan, crying silently into his spelling test while he thought about the truck buried in the bottom of his book bag. Wondering if his truck felt as lonely and sad as he did.

When things change, when Evan doesn’t know what’s coming next, he gets scared. The air in his lungs thins out into watery nothing, and his skin tightens around him, and he just. Turns to dust.

But this doesn’t feel like fear.

This feels different.

Evan grits his teeth and hits backspace too-aggressively; tapping it a whole bunch of times instead of just holding it down, so hard that he hears the fleshy _thunk-thunk-thunk_ of his finger on the glass. He's pretty sure the crying guy is looking at him funny.

This is getting frustrating.

He does his best to focus on the feeling; the exact feeling he gets when he thinks about Connor, or Lucas, or Connor-and-Lucas, or when he looks at the photo with Lucas’s leg in it.

He gets nowhere. Just feels his anger vibrate a little wilder, a little hotter - close to boiling over.

He takes a wild leap:

_1\. Jealous????? Of who????? And why??????_

This is ridiculous.

_1a. Jealous of Lucas?_

_1b. Jealous of Connor?_

Okay, so. Point A.

Evan can see himself being jealous of Lucas.

Not like. Not that he wants to be Connor’s _boyfriend_ or anything. 

That’s not. 

No.

Like...like, Evan would be insane _not_ to be jealous of Lucas. Most guys probably _should_ be jealous of Lucas. Lucas is, well.

_Hot._

Evan’s barely lukewarm.

Not even. More like...like room temperature.

Maybe that’s it. Maybe Evan is jealous of Lucas? Maybe Evan just wants an _aesthetic_ , a cool, clear visual persona. 

To have strangers in public look at him and think _wow._

God, to have strangers in public look at him and think _anything_. Even disgust would be better than being forgettable.

But.

But in the picture, the one that makes Evan’s chest ache and his stomach swirl, he can’t really see Lucas at all. And when he tries to trace his own stream-of-consciousness, to follow the breadcrumb trail going on in his head, it never goes from seeing a Lucas Leg to picturing a Lucas Face and feeling shitty about it.

Maybe he’s jealous of _Connor?_

He doesn’t want to...to _date Lucas._ The thought makes him feel kind of gross, honestly.

But maybe it’s just...he wants to date _anyone?_ To have somebody, someone that’s his. 

A Real Serious Relationship.

Evan’s never really dated anyone before. Not properly. He was dared to kiss some girl at Jared’s birthday party in middle school, and he’s pretty sure he got married in kindergarten. He distinctly remembers being ambushed by a gaggle of five-year-old girls at recess who insisted he play wedding with them. 

He kinda wonders what his wife is up to these days.

But aside from a few half-baked experiences as a kid, Evan’s got nothing.

Nobody.

He never has.

And maybe it’s kind of pathetic, but he likes the thought of being in love. And of being loved back.

It just...it sounds nice.

It sounds _wonderful._

But…

But if _that’s_ why Evan’s feeling jealous, it’s _seriously_ misguided. 

Because Evan’s not even sure if Connor and Lucas are in love at all.

Connor’s made it very clear that this thing with Lucas is just that. A “thing”. ‘ _It’s just casual_ ,’ Connor had chuckled, one time when Evan had referred to Lucas as his boyfriend. ‘ _I mean...I guess he’s my boyfriend? But we’re not exactly, like...exclusive. It’s not that serious.’_

Which means that Lucas is probably fucking other guys.

For the first time, Evan finds himself wondering if Connor is, too.

Strangely enough, the concept makes Evan’s insides twist even more ferociously. It’s a thick, gelatinous kind of anger; sticky and putrid like old blood, and Evan feels his throat almost close up in revulsion.

Revulsion.

That’s it. That’s the feeling. The exact feeling.

It’s a weird mash-up of anger and nausea; both equally intense and fighting for dominance.

And.

Apparently it’s got way less to do with Lucas than Evan thought, and more to do with Connor sleeping with guys?

Which is…

With a looming sense of dread, Evan taps out of his notes app, and opens the Leg Photo once more.

And there it is again; fetid and bubbling.That complete and total aversion, that roiling feeling where Evan immediately wants to look away because he just--just _hates_ what he’s seeing so _much--_

And. And there’s only one explanation for it, really. 

It’s so obvious. Evan can’t believe it’s taken him this long to pin it down.

He goes back into his notes app, erases the whole mess, and types one word. 

And he forces himself to look at it. 

He hates it. 

He wants to cry, and he wants to scream, and he wants to throw his phone out of a moving vehicle so he doesn’t have to see it anymore.

_Admit it._

_This is the root of the problem._

_This is what you are._

_This is what you are, you absolutely fucking revolting human being._

_This has nothing to do with Connor and everything to do with you._

Evan’s eyes begin to sting.

A message from Connor lights up his dimming screen. He hardly even sees it.

Evan feels awful.

Good.

He should.

**Connor:** hey dude where r u?? getting late, everything ok???

Evan tries to find the strength to respond. He owes Connor that, at least. But his notes app keeps peeking out at him from behind the notification, searingly bright. The word brands itself into Evan’s eyes, sizzling and terrible, and Evan can’t think of any other words.

He can’t think about anything.

_1\. homophobic._

  
  


It never used to be like this.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So it turns out that Evan Hansen is a raging homophobe. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well this is turning out to be WAY LONGER THAN I THOUGHT so!! I've updated the chapter count! 
> 
> More anxious Evan in this part! I promise we will EVENTUALLY have a happy ending despite all this stress and Bed Feels~
> 
> Come talk to me on Tumblr! @theyellowestmustard
> 
> TW: Uhhh I think nothing? There's a very brief mention of suicide, particularly in relation to trans people, but just like. The Concept, not an Actual Incident, if that makes any sense. As always, please let me know if you spot something that should be tagged!
> 
> xx

* * *

So it turns out that Evan Hansen is a raging homophobe. 

Larry can tell. Evan's absolutely sure of it. He's been acting crazy-weird around Evan all week, giving him the side-eye every time he passes or skittering away when Evan tries to pet him.

Apparently what Larry lacks in brain power he makes up for in loyalty.

Good.

Evan deserves Larry's contempt. Evan deserves distrust and suspicion and doubt.

Evan almost wishes Larry and Connor would just stop beating around the bush and toss him out of the dorm. Connor should request another roommate, one that's not a bigoted, back-stabbing prick. Someone who accepts Connor completely, the way he deserves to be accepted. 

Evan doesn't  _ want  _ to be a raging homophobe. Not at all. He's always considered himself to be a pretty open-minded person. Like, sure, he's not exactly  _ woke _ or whatever. When it comes to social issues he kind of always feels like he's about ten steps behind, like he's got way more to learn than everybody else.

But he  _ wants _ to learn, is the thing. He wants to educate himself, to be a better person. He  _ wants _ to know what the fuck an incel is and how to deal with systemic racism and how to eliminate all the ableist stuff from his everyday vocabulary. Evan knows that as a cis white guy he's got a lot more going on than other people in terms of privilege, and it wouldn't be right  _ not _ to make a modicum of effort and do his research.

And he'd  _ tried  _ to research this. No matter how squeamish and weird he felt about it. Because Evan wants to be a Good Person; even though he feels like he's faking it, even though he feels like the whole world can see right through him.

Googling  _ 'straight guy gay roommate' _ had not been the best idea, in retrospect.

Evan really should have thought that one through.

Or, like. Opened an incognito tab first, or something.

An interesting outcome of this minor slip-up, however, had been the realization that Evan apparently really likes butts.

Which had been a  _ very _ weird thing to recognize, and had made Evan feel  _ very  _ uncomfortable, until he'd managed to make sense of it in his head.

So, like. A girl's butt and a guy's butt don't look all that different. So it's just his dumb Neanderthal brain reacting to, like. A naked butt in a Sexy Video context, that's all. It's not because it's attached to a  _ guy _ . That part is irrelevant. It's just a butt. Evan's allowed to like butts. Girl butts. That's, like. A normal thing to like looking at.

And besides, this was. Not at all the point of this exercise. So. Yeah.

So Evan had decided to backtrack a little. Maybe his first search was just...too specific. He'd tried  _ 'LGBT' _ next, and that was just  _ completely _ overwhelming, because he'd just gotten  _ billions _ of results and when he'd clicked into the image search he'd been hit with  _ hundreds  _ of striped flags, all with these super-specific labels, most of which he'd never even  _ heard _ of. 

Apparently the world of LGBT was a  _ lot  _ broader than just lesbian/gay/bi/trans.

Evan had no  _ idea. _

He'd spent hours getting completely sidetracked a  _ second _ time, clicking on all different flags and familiarizing himself with all this new terminology, trying to commit the whole lot to memory. Apparently people could, like. Have more than one label? Which made him wonder if Connor is just...straight-out gay, or if he's a combination of things? Maybe Connor isn’t  _ even _ gay; maybe he’s pan or bi or poly, and maybe it’s wrong that Evan had just  _ assumed _ that gay is Connor’s label? Or...or maybe Connor doesn’t like to label himself at  _ all? _ Evan’s heard about that being a thing, in his reading. To each their own, Evan supposes, but the concept of not having a label makes Evan...uncomfortable. Evan likes labels; he likes everything having a name and a category and a proper place on the shelf. It’s just...it’s what feels right, to Evan. The idea of anything else makes him feel uncertain and lost; like there’s nothing but a fissure of darkness beneath his feet, like he could just drop right into it at any given moment.

But it seems like that’s kind of Evan’s whole thing. Things he doesn’t understand or relate to make him feel uncomfortable. He’s like... _ that _ guy.

But he doesn't  _ wanna  _ be that guy. Being that guy is  _ definitely  _ a thing Evan does not want.

So Evan, the raging homophobe, is pulling out all the stops.

Evan is going to talk to Alana Beck.

Like. Soon.

Like. Right now.

He's...scared out of his mind, honestly.

Alana Beck is sitting at a window table, and she's already ordered. She's blowing delicately into her mug, which makes her glasses fog up a little, and Evan counts his blessings because it means she hasn't spotted him yet. She's wearing a tailored blazer in a deep sea green, and she's piled her long braids into this complicated-looking twist on the top of her head. She takes off her glasses, wipes them off with a tiny microfiber cloth that seems to materialize from nowhere, then checks her watch with pursed lips.

Alana Beck is even more intimidating than Evan remembers her to be. 

Formidable, even.

Evan finds himself slinking into the coffee shop like a dog with his tail between his legs.

Alana spots him as he shuffles over to her table. She shoots him this bright, plastered-on smile that looks a little too tight on her face. It's a customer service smile. Evan fights every impulse in his body to stop from shrinking away from her.

"Evan," Alana says. "It's great to see you again. I'll be honest, I had no idea you went to school here. But I suppose it's a big campus." 

She pauses, then adds, "What's your major?" right at the same time that Evan says, "Yeah, huge," so it sounds like  _ yeah huge _ is Evan's major. 

Evan wants to be buried alive.

"I'm majoring in political science right now," Alana says, completely oblivious to Evan's lurching embarrassment. "But I might switch to criminal justice. I'm not sure. There's just so many fields I find interesting."

Evan nods. He doesn't trust himself to speak.

Alana sips her coffee.

"Are you going to order something?" Alana asks. "The coffee here is fair trade and fully sustainable, and they donate 10% of every cup sold to WWF." 

"Um. Maybe not...not right now, I just. I just really wanted to talk to you about...to, um. Ask you...s-some stuff, about. The, um--"

"Oh, of course!" Alana chirps, apparently taking pity on him. "As student Vice President of Queer Union, I'd like to say I'm really happy you reached out to me. You probably already know we're all about activism and community building for our LGBTQIA+ students. We meet on Fridays every other week, and if you're interested in joining there's a free lanyard and--"

_ "I'm not--"  _ Evan blurts. 

It comes out way louder and ruder than he'd intended.

He sucks in a shaky breath.

"I'm...I wasn't really thinking about joining, I just. Was hoping to talk to just. One person. Who knew their stuff and could maybe help me...help me out with something?"

Alana looks disappointed. Evan gets the distinct impression that she's more upset that she didn't get to finish telling him about the lanyard.

"The, uh. The website mentioned, like. S-support services?" Evan tries. His own upwards inflection makes him cringe.

Alana visibly shakes off her dismay, and gives a diplomatic nod. She turns her whole body so she's facing Evan, giving him her undivided attention and Full On Eye Contact, and Evan completely hates it. 

"Well, I'm not a licensed therapist, keep in mind. But if you need someone to talk to about your sexuality, I'm happy to listen. How can I be of help?"

_ "No," _ Evan says, equal parts exasperated and jittery with nerves. "That's not... it's not  _ my  _ sexuality. It's, um. It's a friend of mine."

Understanding dawns on Alana's face, and she gives Evan a knowing smile.

"A friend," she says. "I see."

_ "No,"  _ Evan yelps, because apparently that's the only word in his vocabulary today.  _ "No _ , it's not-- he's an  _ actual friend _ \--"

"Of course," says Alana. "Please, go on."

_ "It's not me--"  _ Evan hisses wildly. He's suddenly absolutely positive that he's being stared at; that everyone in the coffee shop has heard everything and everybody is staring at him. He flicks his gaze frantically over both shoulders. Nobody is looking. 

"I didn't say it was," Alana says, with a sense of calm that Evan finds infuriatingly smug. "But go ahead. Tell me about this... _ friend." _

"He's-- _ my  _ _ roommate's _ _ gay, okay?" _

"Okay. Your roommate."

"And. And I-- _ I think I hate him for it." _

He's met with an absolutely awful silence.  


Evan swears he's never seen a facial expression change so quickly before in his life.

Alana's shoulders visibly tense, and the sly smile is ripped from her face like Velcro. Her lips immediately set in a thin, hard line, and this wall of ice slams up in her eyes. 

She stands up, grabs her purse, and pushes in her chair, seemingly all in one movement, so brisk and efficient it almost looks choreographed. 

"If you're here to spout homophobic nonsense then I'm telling you right now I don't have to listen to it."

"Wait, that's--th-that's not--"

"You think I've not had conversations like this before? There are  _ hundreds _ of people who like to hurl abuse at our little group. I've heard it  _ all _ . I've been called every disgusting, deplorable name under the sun. I've been told Queer Union should be shut down. I've received  _ death threats _ , Evan. And that's just _ me.  _ That's  _ nothing _ compared to what some of our transgender members have had to put up with from the likes of you. Do you have any idea of the  _ suicide rate--" _

"I didn't--I don't mean--"

"No, of course you don't. If you brought me here thinking that just because I'm student Vice President of an LGBTQIA+ group you're entitled to say whatever you want to me, and I'm supposed to just take it on the chin, you are sorely mistaken, Evan Hansen. I don't have to tolerate your abuse, and neither does anyone else. What were you hoping to get out of this encounter? Honestly. What were you looking to gain from this?"

Evan tries desperately to squeeze in an answer, but apparently this question is rhetorical.

"I don't think I'll ever understand how people like you get a kick out of hurting minorities, but quite frankly I don't  _ care _ to know. Have a nice day, Evan."

“I-- _ I don’t wanna be like this, okay?!” _

Alana stops.

Evan’s very sure people are looking at him now, because that was  _ actually  _ loud, not just loud in his imagination. He’s sweating like nobody’s business and he doesn’t even wanna think about how red his face must be and he’s so ashamed of himself that he can feel tears beginning to prick at his eyes, much to his mortification. 

He tries to take a few deep breaths, but the air gets trapped in these big wet bubbles in his throat. It takes genuine effort to swallow them down, big and heavy like bowling balls.

“I don’t--d-don’t  _ wanna _ be like this, I...I don’t wanna hate gay people, I just--j-just. I thought. I--”

Alana turns back towards him and gives him a drawn-out, measured look. The ice in her gaze doesn’t budge one bit, and Evan feels more intimidated than ever.

“I don’t--” Evan says, sounding every bit as helpless and distraught as he feels. “I...I  _ hate  _ this. I don’t  _ want  _ to feel this way, I just…”

“Then why do you?”

“I’m...I don’t  _ know _ , I…”

Alana stands there, still clutching her purse, and looks at Evan for what feels like a very long time.

And then slowly, gradually, her shoulders begin to drop. Warily; like she’s afraid of letting her guard down against Evan the Homophobe.

She sits.

“I’m...I’m afraid I don’t follow,” she says tightly, after a slow, cold silence. “You...hate your roommate because of his sexuality. But you don’t know why you hate homosexuals. And you don’t want to hate homosexuals.”

“Right,” says Evan.

“Then...wouldn’t the logical path here be to...simply...stop hating homosexuals?”

There’s this condescension in Alana’s voice that makes Evan feel about two inches tall. He feels his face grow even hotter.

“It’s...it doesn’t feel that simple,” Evan says weakly.

“Why not?”

“I’m...I don’t--”

“Alright, let’s...perhaps you’d better tell me more about this,” says Alana, all business. She’s still eyeing Evan distrustfully, like she’s waiting for him to turn around and admit that this is all some elaborate joke.

Evan wishes it was.

“Do you get along well with your roommate?”

“Um...yeah. Yeah, really well. He’s like...he’s my best friend.”

“Lovely way to treat a best friend,” Alana remarks. 

Evan’s ears are burning.

“When did he come out to you?” 

“Well, he...didn’t exactly come out, I guess? He just...he started seeing this guy? Sleeping with this guy, anyway, I dunno--dunno how serious it is. But I just...I’ve been feeling...um...just...not very good about it? And I  _ know  _ it’s wrong, I know it’s completely  _ awful  _ of me and you don’t need to tell me because I  _ know _ , okay? I can't _help_ it, it's like it's...internalized or-or something, and in my head I think I'm fine with LGBT stuff but then I just _feel_ so _shitty_...and I-I feel guilty enough about it already because he’s the absolute best person in my life and I shouldn’t even have an opinion on this at all because it’s nothing to do with me but every time I think of him with...with another  _ guy _ I just...I feel  _ sick _ and I feel so  _ angry _ and I just--”

“What do you mean  _ another _ guy?”

Evan’s sudden confusion stops him in his tracks.

“Huh?”

“You said ‘every time I think of him with another guy’. What do you mean  _ another _ ?”

That’s.

Huh.

What  _ did  _ Evan mean by that?

“No, I... _ a  _ guy,” Evan corrects. “I...I meant...every time I see him with  _ a  _ guy.”

Alana’s looking at him funny.

Why is Alana looking at him funny?

“Okay,” she says. “Slip of the tongue, I suppose. Go on.”

And why does Evan feel so flustered all of a sudden?

Why does he get the distinct impression he’s just gone and stuck his entire foot in his mouth?

“Um,” says Evan. “Um--”

“You feel sick and angry,” Alana prompts.

“R-right. I feel...I just don’t  _ like  _ it. I don’t know  _ why, _ it’s just...it’s just a  _ feeling.” _

“Are you afraid he’s going to come onto you?”

_ “W-what?”  _ Evan splutters.  _ “No,  _ no  _ way,  _ he’d never--”

“Are you religious?”

“No, not--not really?”

“Do you think it’s morally wrong for a man to love another man?”

“Of course not, I--”

“Has this new relationship changed his behavior towards you at all?”

“No--”

“Is it his partner? Does he seem aggressive or hostile or abusive?”

“No, that isn’t--”

“Hm,” says Alana.

Evan’s not sure what  _ hm _ means, but Alana is sitting and regarding him in silence, and if the interrogation is over then  _ hm _ can mean whatever the fuck she wants it to mean, as far as Evan’s concerned. 

Also, Evan’s never really thought about the idea of Connor in an  _ abusive relationship  _ before, but now he absolutely  _ is  _ thinking about it and his stomach is in fucking knots.

“So,” Alana says carefully. “Your best friend is in some sort of sexual, maybe-romantic, relationship with another guy. You feel angry and sick about it. You don’t like it. But you’re not religious, morally against homosexuality, the parameters of your relationship with him haven’t changed, and you’ve got nothing against his partner.”

“Right.”

Alana raises an eyebrow. Evan doesn’t know what that’s about, but he finds himself wishing she’d put it back down.

“You’re okay with homosexuality on every moral or spiritual level you can think of,” she repeats, slowly. “But your best friend is sleeping with a guy...and you’re upset about it.”

“Yes.”

There’s another long silence, but it seems way less cold than before.

In fact, it almost seems like Alana is... _ laughing _ at him?

She’s  _ not _ . Not out loud. But there’s something about the way she’s holding her face; something about the way her posture suddenly seems way more relaxed than it did before…

But then again, Evan’s convinced he’s being laughed at, like...90% of every day.

So she’s probably not.

“I know there’s, like. Not really all that much you can do to help figure my brain out?” Evan says sheepishly. “I guess I’m just...I’m scared it’s just...really  _ obvious.  _ I’m scared that maybe I’m acting weird around him? That maybe I’m  _ acting _ really homophobic and making him feel like shit?”

Alana bites her lip, looking like she’s considering how to respond to this.

“Evan, have you...thought about the fact that maybe these feelings aren’t homophobia at all? That they’re maybe...something  _ else?” _

Evan frowns.

“Well...what else could they be?”

Alana stares at him.

Evan stares back.

She’s clearly getting at  _ something.  _ Evan feels it go right over the top of his head; like a strong wind, forceful and emphatic. Evan wishes she’d just  _ say _ it. He’s not even good at interpreting people’s  _ words _ , let alone meaningful  _ looks.  _ The longer her eyes lock on him, the more Evan feels like a robot - an old one, his ancient hard drive overheating and rattling away; does not compute. 

Alana finally breaks with a sigh of resignation.

Like she’s just accepted the fact that Evan is an idiot.

Which he is, but.

_ What else could they be? _

“Evan, it’s...I don’t think it’s my place to say. But let’s say for argument's sake that this  _ is  _ homophobia. I’m inclined to believe it isn’t, but...perhaps instead of trying to...to cure yourself of  _ whatever  _ these negative feelings are, maybe you ought to reverse the process? Force yourself to  _ act  _ as natural and accepting as possible, even if it feels artificial at first. And then maybe the way you feel on the inside will follow suit.”

“Like...like ‘fake it till you make it’?”

“Exactly,” says Alana.

“But...but how am I meant to show him I’m okay with this when it still feels like I’m  _ not? _ ”

Alana rolls her eyes at this. She stands, hooks her purse over her shoulder, and brushes invisible crumbs off her blazer. 

“I’ve already told you, Evan, I’m not a therapist,” she says, rather patronizingly. “I’m sure you can figure that out on your own.”

“I can’t,” Evan says quickly. “I’m dumb.”

Alana, smiling, nods agreeably to this.

“Understood.”

“ _ Please?  _ I know it’s not your job, I’m just...I’m just some asshole you barely even know, but. But if you were in my roommate’s shoes. How would you want someone to show you that they’re cool with you being...um, being…”

“A lesbian,” Alana supplies.

“--with being a, um. L-lesbian. How would you want someone to go about it?”

Alana thinks about this for a moment.

“I’d say,” she tells him, slowly, “that I wouldn’t want them to make a huge fuss over it. No rainbow cakes or marathons of  _ The L Word.  _ They could show me they were comfortable with it by just...being themselves. The less said, the better.”

She goes to leave, then glances back over her shoulder. 

“Good luck, Evan,” she tells him.

She sounds like she might actually mean it, too.

“Thanks,” Evan manages to choke out, too late, to Alana’s back. She’s already halfway out the door, and Evan’s not sure if she’s even heard him.

So.

The less said, the better.

It’s good advice. Just. Don’t make a huge fuss. It sounds easy enough.

Evan gathers himself. Decides it would be weird to leave the coffee shop without ordering anything, so gets a frappuccino to go. One for Connor, too, with extra whip, just how Connor likes it.

It's the least Evan can do after the way he's been acting.

Evan takes the shortcut back to the dorm, walking slow and careful with the drink tray, occasionally dipping his head forward to take a sip.

He needs to just.

Be normal.

Relax.

He opens the door, balancing the coffees in one hand and bumping his way in with his hip. Connor's alone, sprawled out on his bed on top of the covers, earbuds in and shirt off.

Which is fine.

_ Relax,  _ Evan tells himself.  _ Be normal. _

"Oh hey," says Connor. "Where'd you go?"

_ Relax. _

"Uh," says Evan. "Coffee."

"Oh dude, is that for me?"

_ The less said the better. _

"Yeah, it’s...yeah.”

"Nice," says Connor. "Next one's on me."

“Oh, you don’t have to--”

“Course I do,” Connor snorts. He reaches for his drink, and takes a long sip. “Besides, I could probably manage to get a discount anyway. Charging a gay full price for iced coffee is practically homophobic.”

Evan almost chokes.

He’s kidding. It’s a joke.

_ Keep it the fuck together, Evan.  _

_ Be fucking normal.  _

“Yeah,” Evan croaks out, managing a wimpy little laugh. “Yeah, that’s. That definitely sounds homophobic to me. You’d--you’d probably have grounds to sue.”

Connor laughs. “Oh my god, I could pull the whole ‘my dad’s a lawyer’ card.”

“Right,” says Evan weakly. "That's...yeah."

Evan can totally do this. 

Evan is saying The Least, and Connor seems chill. He's skimming whip off the top of his drink, using his straw as a spoon. He looks fine. Relaxed. Happy, even.

Evan can be normal. Evan can say less. Evan can act like he's fine with this.

Because he is.

He's fine.

Connor's gay, and Evan is fine with it.

Connor's phone is lying face-up on the bed. He starts scrolling half-heartedly through Instagram with one hand while he drinks. He pauses, double taps, then keeps scrolling.

It's a selfie of Lucas. 

Evan is not homophobic, so Evan is perfectly fine with that.

Stomach churning, he tips the remainder of his frappuccino down the sink.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
